


New Years Eve After No New Years Meant To Be

by D20Owlbear



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [13]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, New Years Eve Story, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Self-Reflection, South Downs Cottage, set after the apocalypse, shorter one this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: 7/12 Days of Blasphemy 2020“I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate.” (Song of Songs 8:2)Aziraphale and Crowley ring in the new years at home, nearly a decade after the apocalypse that wasn't. It's all mostly domestic and low-key.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570819
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020





	New Years Eve After No New Years Meant To Be

"It's just hot cocoa, angel," Crowley grumbled, handing over the drink in question, and hissing at Aziraphale's kiss to his cheek. "Ugh, _affection_ , disgusting." Aziraphale smiled and Crowley fought not to return it as he play-acted at scrubbing the kiss off his cheek.

"Oh, I do think you started it, my dear." Aziraphale looked over at Crowley's mug and frowned, pensive, at him. "And just what have you got for yourself, my love?"

Crowley stuck his tongue out at Aziraphale and flicked the split ends of it at him for emphasis. Aziraphale sighed and looked back to his cocoa and Crowley frowned. Fuck, he hadn't meant to– it was just teasing, fine. The guilt Crowley liked to think he didn't have clawed up at him. Sometimes, even when there weren't any real reasons to be upset, it was clear they were both just a bit prickly and defensive and quick to feel bad about their interactions. Crowley didn't like being the cause of those nights, even though he knew in some deep, hidden part of himself that it couldn't be his fault so much as Head Offices.

"Just mulled wine, angel." Crowley said in lieu of an apology, and stepped over the back of the couch and paid no mind to how Aziraphale harrumphed at his shoes on the cushions (Aziraphale couldn't prove they _weren't_ fake shoes, so there). He leaned into Crowley easily enough, laying an arm over his shoulders and pulling Crowley back against his chest.

"What kind?" Aziraphale murmured and kissed Crowley's temple. Crowley shifted and stuck his heels onto the couch to push himself back further against Aziraphale until the line of his back was flush with Aziraphale's side and his arm could hang from the elbow down Crowley's chest.

"Wild blackberry," Crowley mumbled under his breath, feeling sheepish suddenly, like he'd chosen the wrong thing. Why was this a conversation at all, since when had they talked about what Crowley was drinking? Except, they always had, it just felt different tonight because they were both a bit off, weren't they?

"Used the merlot you didn't like much." Crowley sighed heavily and took a sip of the warm drink, pretty decent with the blackberries and spices now. It was something about the new year that always did it, these last handful of years. The 11 years leading up to the apocalypse they were fraught, urgent reminders. Before that they'd all be true celebrations, another year on earth! Another rotation of the sun these funky little humans had survived through against all disaster and likelihood!

But now they were… a little melancholy. No, not quite that, Crowley mused to himself and let his head lay back on Aziraphale's shoulder. It was more reflective, perhaps. A slightly solemner occasion than it used to be, now that the apocalypse was the flopocalypse and all their time seemed… something. It was something, not quite borrowed when no one was looking to end it, not quite melancholy when there was still so much to celebrate, not quite urgent or fraught when there was nothing they were unwillingly racing towards, not quite a celebration either. Not now that it had been so close to slipping through their fingers, through every fault of their own.

Meditative, maybe. A time to think back and reflect on things, dwell a bit even.

"You know," Aziraphale said after some time, it could have been minutes or hours they sat inhumanly still in silence, Crowley didn't know.

"Know what?" He prompted after Aziraphale trailed off.

"Oh, my apologies. You must know, that I love you, Crowley."

"Oh, yeah. I know that."

Silence fell again and Crowley tilted his head to kiss Aziraphale's cheek, and Aziraphale turned his head to do the same, so instead their lips met. They smiled, small but happy, and they remembered all those years previous and how, maybe, this year ought to be a celebration too. Just the two of them, for another year on this ball of mud and water and beautiful, lovely humans to walk all around it.

"I love you too, ya know."

"Yes, darling, I know."

**Author's Note:**

> I uh... am actually very sorry for how melancholy this is. And how short it is. 
> 
> Writing has been difficult for me lately, sorry. I'm also very sorry if this didn't make much sense at all, this probably should have also got the tag 'author is going through some shit'


End file.
